


Into Darkness

by lodessa



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Angry Sex, Blood Kink, Control Issues, Gunplay, Jealousy, Kink Your Revolution, Knifeplay, M/M, Threats of Violence, Uniform Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 21:12:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6723610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lodessa/pseuds/lodessa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is not the first time he’s pulled a gun or a knife on Bass. It doesn’t matter; because, it always turns out the same way: that pretty pout, empty threats with real rage, each of them daring the other to take it a step further. Want and rage and violence and lust… since long before the blackout. Since Basic, in fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into Darkness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JaqofSpades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaqofSpades/gifts).



“Miles?” Bass’ eyes widen for just a moment, making him look less like the leader of the Monroe Republic and more like the wide eyed recruit Miles had gone through basic with. It’s that look he remembers from when everything started going sideways: Plaintive. Girly. Whorish. He hates that look, always has. He hates what it means, hates how he responds to it. He’d tell himself he wishes he’d never seen it, but then here he is again, drawing it out.

Fucking Baker knows better than to flirt with Bass right in front of him, and if he didn’t before - well. If the beat down didn’t teach him, maybe the demotion will. No shiny buckle for you, you boot licking pervert. But Bass had pulled him off, actually given him an order, and dragged him away to the privacy of their office.

Miles doesn’t like when Bass pulls rank on him. He gave him that damned rank. Not to mention, the fucking uniform. His doing too… but fuck if it isn’t making everything impossibly worse.

This is not the first time he’s pulled a gun or a knife on Bass. It doesn’t matter; because, it always turns out the same way: that pretty pout, empty threats with real rage, each of them daring the other to take it a step further. Want and rage and violence and lust… since long before the blackout. Since Basic, in fact.

Miles tries to push that memory away but he can’t. He can’t forget and he isn’t sure what part of remembering fucks him up more: being disgusted by what he’d done, or being tantalized by the vivid, technicolor details his brain insists on supplying. Every lick. Every suck. Every time he’d wanted it since… made it happen over and over, even as he swore he was never fucking going there again.

Maybe he could deal with wanting to hurt Bass if he didn’t want… sometimes Miles doesn’t think there are words for what he wanted...wants, not ones for a man like him. So he settles for have, fuck, screw. He could probably deal with wanting to destroy Bass if he didn’t want to have him and he might even be able to deal with being more than a little gay for Bass if he didn’t want to strangle him.

But it’s both. It’s always been both.

_”Is this what you like now?” he’d hissed, pressing the barrel of the gun against Bass’ temple, “Should I order you? Threaten even?”_

_“Fuck you, Miles.”_

_“You want to, don’t you? Do you think I don’t know…”_

_He couldn’t bring himself to finish, to say it out loud: You want to fuck me. You go around slutting it up like the queer motherfucker you are, just trying to get a reaction, Bass. What reaction are you expecting, asshole? No, please, stop hurting my feelings? Fuck that. You want me to call you a fag and disown you?_

_“Stop, Miles… Please.”_

_He hates how much Bass’ bitch ass begging gets under his skin, how he wonders if he’s like that for just anyone or if that little show of submission is just for him. Is this the first time he’s groveled tonight or just the latest?_

_“What if I don’t, Bass? What if this time I keep going? What if I pulled the trigger?”_

_“You wouldn’t.”_

_“Maybe I would,” Miles growled, “The fuck you’d know. Want to play a game? Maybe a little Russian Roulette?”_

_He wasn’t even making sense to himself. All he knew is that he was on the verge of some sort of explosion and it was Bass’ fault and he’d be damned if he wasn’t taking him down with him._

_Just like he’s taking me down, Miles begrudgingly added to himself._

_Bass was always too pretty for this own fucking good. Unscrupulous cougars and bent Generals… Miles knew every time._

_“Did you let him fuck you, Bass?” he hissed, the cold metal of the pistol pressing harder against his head, “Did you enjoy being his little whore?”_

_“Why do you care anyway, Miles? It’s not like you-“_

_“Tell me.”_

_He needed to know, needed to hear._

_“Fine. I sucked him off Miles. I sucked him off and I got hard doing it because I closed my eyes and imagined it was was you instead. Is what what you wanted to hear?”_

_Miles felt a surge of regret well up, as Bass’ answer tore from him… regret and something else._

_“I didn’t…”_

_He didn’t want the answer; because, now he had to respond… had to deal with it. At the same time: he needed it. Bass was **his** , a voice that would not be silenced hissed and needed to be fed by that admission._

_“Why did you make me say it, Miles? Why the fuck did you make me say it?”_

_“I’m sorry, Bass,” he said and he was. Why the fuck did he decide to taunt his best friend about some general’s little crush? Why should he care whether visiting brass couldn’t keep his eyes off Bass? If he’d pulled him aside for a private talk… not Miles’ problem. It wasn’t like-_

_“Why Miles?” Bass’ eyes glistened, face flushed as he pressed into the barrel of the pistol, “Fuck you! Why?”_

_Miles didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he could._

_“Show me,” he said instead, “Show me how you did it.”_

_He pushed hard on Bass’ shoulder with his free hand, keeping his finger on the trigger with the other, as he forced him to his knees… if it could be called forcing with the pliant way Bass went._

_He looked up at Miles, mouth open, eyes searching, like he half expected him to start laughing… but he didn’t._

_“What did he say to you, Bass? Tell me!”_

_“He didn’t say anything. Just stood up so his belt buckle was level with my eyes...looked at me and then glanced down at it.”_

_“And then…”_

_“I unbuckled it for him… Christ!”_

_“I said show…” Miles, clicked off the safety and watched Bass swallow slowly._

_His hands shook as he reached for Miles’ uniform._

_“How far…”_

_“Until I tell you to stop.”_

_Some of the tension in Bass’ shoulders relaxed as his shoulders visibly loosened and dropped lower, as he worked open the front of Miles’ pants, drawing out his half hard cock. He didn’t comment on the fact and Miles didn’t volunteer an explanation. He’s pretty sure Bass goddamned knows as well as he does. Probably better for fucks sake._

_They’d been drunk all the other times, drunk enough not to mention it in between. That time, his hand had felt solid, impossible to ignore. Undeniably Bass. One two, three tugs and Miles was all the way hard … half from the contact but equally from watching Bass lick his lips._

_“Did you do all the work?” he hissed, imagining holding Bass’ head where he wanted it and fucking that pornographic mouth. “Or did you sit back and take it from him while he-“_

_“He just sat back and enjoyed it…” Bass said, so quietly Miles barely heard him. Or maybe he hadn’t been listening well, because Bass was in the process of lowering his mouth around the head of Miles’ cock to demonstrate._

_It was nothing like the sloppy soft desperation of drunkenness. Just how many cocks have you sucked, Bass? Miles sneered at his apparent skill. Couldn’t say it, though, too busy thrusting into Bass’ mouth, one shove right to the back of his throat._

_“Do you want me to stop?” he taunted as Bass gagged, the gun still pressed to the side of his head. He didn’t wait for an answer, just thrust harder as he tightened his free hand, holding Bass in place with a stranglehold around his throat._

_“No…” Bass shook, “Please, Miles.”_

_“What do you want, Bass? Tell me.”_

_“I want you Miles… I want to make you come for me.”_

_With a satisfied smirk, Miles pulled Bass back to him, letting himself enjoy at the wet heat of a hungry mouth swallowing his cock. He could feel Bass moaning around it. Desperate little whore. It was pathetic but fuck did it turn him on._

_The rage was never far behind, though. How dare Bass do this for anyone else? How dare he make Miles think about this?_

_The gun clattered to the floor as both of Miles’ hands wrapped around Bass’ neck, holding him close so Miles could thrust relentlessly into his mouth._

_“Is this what you want then? My cock? Me to take what you have been flaunting…” Miles panted, fingers digging into Bass’ skin, bruising._

Bass was always too pretty for this own fucking good. Whether it was bent generals back then, or their own recruits now, or the Philly socialites willing to do whatever it took to further their husband’s careers. Bass didn’t seem able to say no... and Miles knew every time.

“Maybe I’ll just make you a lil less pretty,” Miles spits, grabbing a fist full of golden curls as he continues to press the cold steel against Bass’ throat. That’s one advantage to being in charge of their own army… no godawful buzzcuts that denied him any sort of grip. “Would you scream if I cut up that choirboy face of yours?”

Why does seeing Bass in uniform bring out that predatory side of him? The part of him who wants to possess… to punish. He’d hate it except … it brings out something in Bass too. For Bass it’s the need to kneel, to serve… ironic considering now he’s supposed to be in charge. Bass likes to grovel. Debase himself. Lose himself in that submissive obedience with a feverish zeal, needier than anything Miles could dream up.

He does hate it actually, how it can be used by anyone who knows, but if Bass is going to play someone’s whore it had better damned well be him.

Bass swallows hard, scanning Miles’ face for an answer to the knife at his throat. This time, Miles thinks, Bass really doesn’t know why he’s angry.

It makes it worse.

“I could do it, you know.”

“You wouldn’t…”

“Maybe I would. It would be easy, I could blame Georgia or maybe one of those clans.”

“Fine, Miles. Whatever. Just tell me what you want.”

The uniforms were a bad idea. It had seemed so practical at the time, so necessary, but Miles had forgotten just how seeing Bass all tucked into one like this… made him think things… always had.

“Tell me you’d let me.”

“You know I would. Fuck. Miles, you know I’d let you do just about anything.”

“But you never ask,” Miles presses the knife harder against Bass’ skin and a drop of blood trickles from the spot where he breaks it ever so slightly.

“I don’t want you to do it because I asked…”

“You want me to want to,” Miles gives in to the temptation, leaning in and licking the blood from Bass’ skin, the metallic tang of it and the salt of his sweat mixing on his tongue.

“I do,” Bass admits, “I don’t want a goddamned pity fuck from you.”

“What if I want to hurt you, Bass?” he replies, imagining Bass bent over the table. His incorrigible thoughts insist on playing that one out in detail: how lovely lash marks would look against his skin, how the blood welling up in them would taste, how the tears would well up in his eyes and how he’d sob in relief when Miles pushed himself too far and finally switched pain for pleasure.

“Then you are already succeeding,” Bass snarls back at him, forcing Miles to yank his head back with that grip on his hair.

The freshly sewn on buttons clatter to the floor as Miles runs the knife down the front of Bass’ uniform. When he gets to the bottom half he can clearly see how much Bass is getting off on this twisted little game.

“Lose the clothes,” he growls, starting to unfasten his pants with one hand, “And bend over the desk.”

“Please, Miles. Let me see you.”

He almost tells him no, but he does so love watching Bass’ reactions.

“Fine, get on the couch then. Those legs had better be up like a pole dancer’s.”

He reaches in one of the desk drawers and tosses Bass the lube.“Get yourself ready,” Miles orders, walking towards him as he finishes loosening his own uniform and shucking it on the floor lazily.

Bass is more limber than a lot of the whores they’ve met over the years, and Miles enjoys watching him finger himself slowly, keeping his eyes on Miles.

Hecrouches down, knife still in one hand, and traces patterns inside each of Bass’ thighs: one with a fingertip and the other with a knifepoint. Bass throws his head back, cock twitching needily for attention, and fucks himself more fervently on his own hand.

Miles leans down and traces the blood welling up from Bass’ thigh with his tongue.

“Beg me.”

“Please, Miles…” Bass moans, free hand reaching for his own cock. Miles intercepts it.

“Tell me the truth. Who is in charge here?”

“You are,” Bass gasps as Miles’ forefinger joins both of Bass’ own that are already up his ass. “I own the republic but you… own me.”

“Good boy,” Miles rewards, moving the knife to Bass’ other thigh as he pulls both their hands back and presses his hard on against the cleft of Bass’ ass.

“Miiilessss…” Bass begs and Miles rewards him as he shifts to press inside.

“Yeah, Bass?” he grunts, “That what you want? General Cockslut…”

“Fuck…”

Miles continues the trail of his knife over Bass’ thighs, another inch with each thrust of his cock, the tight heat and Bass’ moans egging him on.

“You’d let me do anything to you… wouldn’t you?”

“Please… just don’t stop-”

Bass’ thighs are a mess of oozing cuts and his body is shaking with adrenaline and Miles thinks about how when he’s like this Bass really would let him do anything. He can’t help himself.

He learns down and bites Bass’ lip, claiming his open mouth, dropping the knife and holding onto both legs so he can fuck him harder into the couch, losing the tightly held control he’s been trying to hold onto in the feel and taste of this moment.

Bass screams his name and he comes deep inside of him, feeling Bass shoot all over both of their stomachs and chests.

When he pulls back they are both a mess of blood and cum. He looks down at the ground, discarded uniforms, stray buttons… his knife. Reality hits.

He can’t keep doing this. With every week that passes this republic of theirs spins more and more out of control… every time he succumbs to the bloodlust, everything slides deeper into darkness.

_Part of him had wanted, so badly, to finish down Bass’ throat, but that seemed like letting him win. Instead, he pulled back, the mess spurting all over Bass’ face. Bass reached out his tongue to lick it from the corner of his mouth and for a moment Miles wanted to do the same, to follow the trail of his cum across Bass’ face and into his mouth._

_Instead he pulled back, tucking himself back into his pants and refastening them. Picking up his gun from the floor, he cast one more glance at Bass kneeling on there._

_“Everything you let some punk ass officer do to you, you do the same for me … Understood?”_

_Bass nodded, still trembling slightly._

_“Think about that next time,” Miles spat, and headed out the door._

_There had to be rules, had to be limits and boundaries… order. It was better this way, a controlled burn rather than a wildfire waiting to happen. That’s what he told himself._

_Besides, Bass needed something and if Miles didn’t stop his downward spiral, he could lose him. He couldn’t let that happen, not even if it cost him pieces of his sanity. Okay...The last shreds of his already threadbare decency._

_He could stop this. It was a choice: the lesser of possible evils. Really. He hadn’t lost control. He’d gained it._

_It wasn’t until a good deal later, when he went to clean his gun, that he realized he’d forgotten to put the safety back on._

They have never been safe again. Of course, maybe they never were safe in the first place.

It is just more obvious now. The lights went out and there was no safe anymore, no lines, no one to stop them. In the dark, the only boundaries have the ones they have been able to force themselves to keep.

But Miles has never liked to stop and Bass is terrible with boundaries.

So further and further into the darkness they have sunk. Miles seriously doesn’t want to know what rock bottom looks like… feels like, but here he is, rushing towards it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Jaq for encouraging me and for editing this thing into some semblance of coherency .


End file.
